


These Games We Play

by alylynn122



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Child Abuse, Hurt No Comfort, Isolation, Nursery Rhyme References, Poor Eleven, Young Eleven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 12:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alylynn122/pseuds/alylynn122
Summary: The first time Eleven says no, Papa makes sure it won't happen again.





	These Games We Play

She was little the first time she said it. She wasn’t sure how little, birthdays didn’t exist underground. But it was shortly after she started talking. Her words, limited to only a few, were hard to find sometimes. It was easier not to use them, to just nod or say nothing. They never wanted to talk to her anyways.    
  
“Eleven, tell me what the man is saying.”    
  
Papa had lots of words, and she had to listen to them. But today, she didn’t want to. She was tired. Her head felt funny and her nose was crusty from the blood already. She just wanted to go back to her room and play. She had blocks. She liked her blocks. She didn’t like this game.    
  
“No.”    
  
Papa didn’t speak for a moment, and she turned her head to meet his eyes. Towering over her, grinding his jaw as he surveyed her, he didn’t look like he wanted to play either.    
  
“Eleven, I know you’re tired, but do this one more time, and then you can go take a nap.”    
  
But she didn’t want a nap. If she did it again, she would be too tired to play. She wanted to play with her toys, not this stupid game.    
  
“No.”    
  
When he pulled the wires off her head, she thought she’d won. A smile broke across her face, but it quickly fell when she met his eyes.    
  
Two people came, people who always walked with her and Papa. But instead of waiting for her to get up, they grabbed her arms and hoisted her out of her chair. For a moment, she felt like she was flying, but their grip was hard. Their fingers dug into her arm, and it wasn’t fun anymore.    
  
“Papa, ow,” she cried, turning her head to catch his gaze as the men took her away. Papa didn’t follow, he just watched. Where were they going? Papa always walked her back to her room.    
  
“Papa!”    
  
Her feet couldn’t touch the floor, toes hovering just above the tile. No matter how much she wiggled, she couldn’t get free, and they just held her tighter. It felt like her arms would fall off, and a sob ripped its way through her throat.    
  
“Papa! Ow!”   
  
She couldn’t see him, but she knew he would hear her scream. He always heard her, where was he?    
  
The men took her to a room she had never seen before. Inside was empty, just a hard floor and dark walls and dim lights. They threw her onto the floor, and her knees hit the hard cement with a crack. Pain blossomed through her, coursing down from her arms to her palms where they had smacked the ground, and up through her knees and chest.    
  
When she looked back up, the door was closed.    
  
“Papa!”    
  
There was no response, only the sound of her own voice shouting back at her. The chill crept in through her thin gown, and the little room seemed so far away from the bright lights in the hall.    
  
Eleven stared at the door, trying to channel her energy into pushing it. She made things move sometimes, on accident. Papa was trying to teach her to play games with her mind, was this another one?    
  
Her field hit the door, but barely managed to tap it. It was so heavy, she could feel the hard metal and the stone between the metal plates. She screamed, pouring her fear into the push, trying to remember how she had moved things before when she was upset. But she only succeeded in giving herself a headache, blood pulsing against her temples in agonizing waves.    
  
With a cry, she collapsed onto the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and pressing her back to the corner. This place was scary. It was dark and cold and she didn’t like this game.    
  
Maybe Papa put her here because she wouldn’t play what he wanted to play.    
  
Her head hurt so bad, but she wanted out, and maybe if she played they would let her out. Maybe if she was good, if she didn’t say no anymore.    
  
She closed her eyes and listed to the hum of the fan, letting the buffeting blades guide her through the wall of her room, down the corridors, and into the room where the man was still speaking. The words were hard, she didn’t know what he was saying. She only recognized a few, but she repeated them as best as she could.   
  
“The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,” she whispered, shivering as she spoke. With her eyes closed and mind gone, her body felt empty, “All on a summer’s day.”    
  
She waited a moment to listen, to see if anyone had opened the door, but no sound came besides the constant whirr of the fan filtering in more cold air.    
  
“The Knave of hearts, he stole those tarts, and took them clean away,” she said a little louder.   
  
Still nothing. Perhaps Papa couldn’t hear her.    
  
“The King of Hearts called for tarts, and beat the knave full sore.”    
  
Her throat hurt from trying to talk loud enough to be heard outside the walls. But still Papa didn’t open the door. Was he out there? Could he hear her?    
  
“The Knave of hearts brought back the tarts!”    
  
She screamed as loud as she could, her tongue tripping over the words when another sob tore its way from her throat.    
  
The fan seemed deafening now, and the man had stopped speaking. No one heard her. Papa wasn’t playing anymore.    
  
She was alone.    
  
“And vowed he’d steal no more,” she whispered, voice breaking on the word that had gotten her into this mess.    
  
A stab of pain through her head broke her connection, and the man vanished. All she could see was dark walls, and each pass of the fan brought another stab of pain. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she shuddered at the taste of blood in her mouth. Her head hurt from the crying and screaming, and it hurt even more from using her powers. It wasn’t fair, Papa always got to play what he wanted. Why didn’t she?    
  
It wasn’t long before she fell asleep, head cradled between her arms, curled in a tight ball in the corner.    
  
When she woke up, she was back in her bed, blankets tucked loosely around her.    
  
And all of her toys were gone.    



End file.
